


Book of Tullk: In the Inbetween

by AvatarofJord



Series: Spare Parts Universe [4]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom!Yondu, Drinking, Established Relationship, Face-Sitting, M/M, Ravager Culture, Recreational Drug Use, Rimming, Slash, Top!Kraglin, shameless headcanon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-29 01:11:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12619736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvatarofJord/pseuds/AvatarofJord
Summary: “So now might be a good time to address the Bilgesnipe in the room.” Brahl says, dumping a crate out all over the fur covered bed, a real bed, not a leather stretched bunk on the far side of the ship. Wretch turns and looks at the contents and it becomes pretty obvious the gear revealed isn’t Yondu’s. Shirts too slim, socks too big, a few spare tools and blades and then there’s the grubby pair of white underwear, crumpled up and stiff. “What are we gonna do about Obfonteri?”or-more Ravager headcanon crap!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> More Kraglin-centric Ravager crap from Avatar! yay...said...some people? maybe?
> 
> This takes place first between a couple scenes in the second movie during the mutiny and then just after the Epilogue for Spare Parts. Since it's Ravager heavy rather than focused on the Guardians as a whole it'll be part of Book of Tullk (even though hes already dead), even though it is in the Spare Parts universe. I like to think maybe Kraglin didn't regret the mutiny right away, and also theres a lack of Taserface in my life.

There are a few truths to the Universe, things that don’t change no matter which galaxy you’re in. One of the most irritating of which is that, in the in-between places, where there’s no direct sunlight and the nearest star is light years away, space is cold. Really cold. Even with hot plasma engines and all manner of reactors powering the ships that cruise through those paths, there are certain parts of a Ravager vessel that never really warm up to a comfortable level. Unfortunately, for safety as well as functionality, these decks tend to be crew quarters and habitation decks, leading to many a long night where the oilers and expendables end up huddled together for warmth, sleeping piled on top of each other rather than in their own bunks. The Eclector is no exception. A big runner and a shoddy conglomerate of spare parts and connected ships, she’s built for war, for pirating and banditry, not comfort. Besides, sleeping in piles builds connections, a brotherhood. Hard to want to shoot someone in the back when you’ve been waking up to their halitosis, curled around each other three out of five days in a standard working week. When they know where your boots fell the night before and they’re the one helping you strap your kit on in the morning. It’s something all Ravager’s get used to and something only the Captain and a few select officers really get to avoid. 

That’s one of the perks of being in charge, Captain’s quarters situated on a deck just above the engines where the heat can rise up. Private quarters no one else gets to occupy and Yondu’s are especially swanky by Ravager standards, fitted for entertaining, with their own bar and open living area.

While, the rest of the boys are down with the Tailor, getting the little tree squared away, the Eclector’s new captain and his cronies begin ‘redecorating’. It’s a common enough practice, to grab the most valuable items up first, stake a claim before any of the others can get their hands on the good stuff. Once they’ve finished tossing Udonta’s shit around, sifting for what’s worth something, Taserface plans on going to check on the initiation of the newest, smallest member of the crew. He’s got little faith in Gef not fuck up the whole operation when he’s not being supervised. 

“So now might be a good time to address the Bilgesnipe in the room.” Brahl says, dumping a crate out all over the fur covered bed, a real bed, not a leather stretched bunk on the far side of the ship. Wretch turns and looks at the contents and it becomes pretty obvious the gear revealed isn’t Yondu’s. Shirts too slim, socks too big, a few spare tools and blades and then there’s the grubby pair of white underwear, crumpled up and stiff. “What are we gonna do about Obfonteri?”

“What about him? He picked his side.” Taserface says, pulling open a bedside drawer to reveal a tin of sweets and another that has some kind of red makeup in it, a few spare trinkets and tools, and what looks remarkably like a spare fin. He can’t help laughing, picking it up and turning it over in his hand before tossing it back in the drawer. Lot of good it’ll do Udonta in there. Fucking idiot.

“I’m just sayin’ someone might wanna check on where he’s gotten off to. Make sure he’s singin’ the right song.” Brahl says, suddenly right at Taserface’s side, curious eyes peeking into the drawer. It’s obvious he’s vying for the first mate appointment, but if he’s honest, Taserface isn’t exactly sure Kraglin shouldn’t keep his job. He was pretty good at it all things considered. And he could have fought Taserface for command, being the higher rank of the two of them. But he hadn’t, had just stepped quietly off to the side.

“Kraglin’s a terrible singer.” 

“You know what I mean Captain.”

Wretch decides to take that moment to heave a dramatic sigh at his new captain and Brahl. “Why don’ one a us just go down and ask him?” He rasps, voice gravelly. 

“If he lies?” Brahl says and Wretch rolls his eyes.

“Then we airhole him like the rest of those morons. Iffin ya don’t like that, we can always strap his ass down by the engines til the heat melts him.”

“Screw spacin him, he betrays us I say we turn him over, his bounty’s worth it on more than a couple systems.”

“Shut up.” Taserface growls, interrupting the pair of idiots. Not for the first time since mutinying Udonta does he wonder if being Captain is maybe not all it’s cracked up to be. “It doesn't matter what we decide to do with him. Wretch, go find him, let him know he can grab his shit from here, before the boys get at it. Make sure he falls in line.” 

Wretch snaps a sloppy salute before heading out and Taserface rolls his eyes.

Kraglin is in the hangar bay, staring at the spot where Nebula’s M-ship had been hung up. Giving it to her had left him with a bit of a sour stomach, the best ship they’d had, a dog fighter Yondu had had built to his specifications, to replace the warship he’d lost in the War for Xandar. A fast and aggressive bird, 3 seater, meant to be piloted solo. But it had seemed better than letting _Captain Taserface_ have it for his own. He tries not to think about Yondu, sitting in the brig, tries not to think about turning him over to the Kree. Tries not to think about the kind of _mercy_ a former slave could actually expect from them. And it’s silly, stupid even, because he hasn’t worried about the growing distance between him and Yondu up til now, had felt pretty righteous about treating the Captain to more than a few cold shoulders, but he can’t help but wonder if starting a mutiny means it’s over between them. 

“Hey! Kraggles! You done fuckin’ around with that cybernetic sexpot?” Wretch calls out when he finds him, and Kraglin rolls his eyes and sighs. Wretch has never been one of his favorite comrades in red. He’s a bottom feeder like a lot of the crew they took on after Xandar. The kind that even other Ravager clans would have left to rot on their dead end systems. Even with sleeping down with the crew the last few months, since Xandar, since him and Yondu started to drift apart, Wretch is still not someone Kraglin would trust to curl up with. Too handsy, with a rank odor that even the grubbiest of them try to avoid. 

**_All your favorite brothers are dead now, traitor._** Kraglin thinks the voice in his head sounds unsurprisingly like Tullk.

“What do you want Wretch?” Kraglin asks, arms limp at his sides, a picture of ambivalence. 

“Heh, Captain sent me down. Said to get your shit out of Udonta’s room before we trash the place.” Wretch rasps, wiggling his tongue the same time he wiggles his eyebrows. It’s as suggestive as his face is stupid. “He also wants to make sure you’re with the program. Got some questions for ya.” 

“Not really in the mood for questions.” Kraglin says and ducks his head to try and leave. He’s not really in the mood to fight either, but when Wretch grabs him by the elbow his fists come up all the same.

“Didn’t ask what you was in the mood for, did I. Captain wants to know.”

“Wants to know what?”

Wretch leans in close, rancid breath and bad teeth close enough to Kraglin’s face for him to feel justified in growling at him. He knows what the new boys say about him behind his back, hasn’t changed in all his years as Yondu’s second. Those who weren’t there to witness him earning his place, bloodied face and split knuckles on the octagon, have always whispered words like _bitch_ and _soft_ and _wuss_. But they don’t challenge him because he’s also efficient and practical, because he’s the best at what he does. And because Yondu was as much at his back as he was at Yondu’s.

 **_Where’s Yondu now ey? Oh tha’s right, rottin’ in a cell about to be sold to the Kree._** Tullk’s ghost whispers again.

“You and Udonta, you got history.” Wretch says with an easy smile and another suggestive wiggle of the brows. “But, word on the low decks is you an’ him been on the outs.” 

“Everyone knows that. Jus’ cause we share a bunk don’ mean we agree on everythin’.” Kraglin growls as he yanks his arm out of Wretch’s grip.

“Sharin’ a bunk mean you’re gonna get all weepy when we kill him?” 

“No. it don’t. An’ if it’s all the same to you-”

“I don’t give a shit about you Obfonteri. Captain, asked.” Wretch says and he crowds in close again, shoulders back and chest puffed out. The gears and pistons in Kraglin’s mechanical arm whir in warning, shifting to anticipate a fight, cables pulling taut and ready. “Personally, I think we should stuff you out an airlock right now, ‘cause I saw the way you looked at Udonta when we trussed him up. Me thinks you’re a traitor twice.”

Kraglin snorts at him, head tilted back so he can look down his nose at his fellow Ravager, bared throat showing how little a threat he thinks Wretch is. “Well then I guess it’s a good thing it ain’t up to you.”

Wretch smirks at him, on anyone else it might be charming, but instead it just comes off as slimey, and shoulder’s passed the First Mate. “We’ll see.” 

Kraglin follows out after him, but where Wretch heads down to the Tailor to hook up with the rest of the boys, Kraglin heads up to Yondu’s quarters. Even with the sounds of the ship running in the background the lack of crew noise makes him uneasy. The Eclector has never run at a full crew, being exiled forcing them all to scrape the bottom of the barrel on recruits, but there are usually a few spare red clad bodies filtering through her corridors. Now she might as well be a ghost town. 

He’s at Yondu’s rooms in minutes and is thankful to find it empty, albeit obviously gone through. His spare underclothes are tossed all over the bed and several of the prominent trinkets are missing as is more than half the stock of good liquor. 

“Assholes.” he mumbles snagging a loose sock off the floor and giving it a sniff before tossing it on the bed with the rest of its siblings. “Should just toss this shit, dirty anyway.” 

“You really need to work on your laundry habits, Kraglin.” Taserface chimes in, snuck up behind him, from the doorway. It takes everything Kraglin has not to jump out of his skin. He’s never really thought of Taserface as a subtle person, but he’s also never really thought of him as a leader. More like a bully, but not someone who inspires men to, oh say, mutiny their Captain and jettison their comrades out into space. Seems he’s been underestimating a lot of things lately.

“Sorry, Ta-uh-Cap’n. Didn’t hear ya come in.” He studders, thumping his chest like a good Ravager should. 

“Just wanted to check in on our First Mate. See how you’re handling the new management.”

“Fine, Sir.” the honorifics stick in his silver capped teeth, but for the sake of his own neck he forces them out. He can hear his arm vent some excess vapor, trying to cool itself from where it’s still wound and ready to fight. Trying to relax so he isn’t perceived as a threat.

“Good.” Taserface grins around the word, fangs out. “When you’re done here, get down to welcome the tree to the family proper. Wouldn’t want the crew to think the First Mate is moping after Udonta now.” 

“Actually, Sir...” He starts, voice trembling a bit because if Taserface doesn’t go for his idea, he’s not sure what the behemoth will do. “I was wantin’ to put my name forward to be the new Archivist seeing as you-” he gulps. “Well seeing as we’re short one.”

“New Archivist?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You can write?”

“Yes, Sir. Common Xandarian and well...a bit of Kree, and Centaurian.”

“Hah. Just the naughty words on that last one, right.” Taserface laughs and Kraglin fights the bit of a blush that starts to heat his cheeks. In the last few hours he’s had more comments on his association with Yondu than he has in the whole thirty years before. He wonders if after Taserface drops the old man with the Kree, if maybe he shouldn’t seek widow’s rights for all the men have been poking fun at him. Probably a dumb idea. “What do we need an Archivist for? We’re not gonna be keepin’ to all those old traditions. That’s old news, old ways for old men. Are you an old man Kraglin?”

“Well, I just figured you’d want a record, Sir. But if you’re not wantin’ your name written down-” Kraglin watches all the mirth slide of Taserface’s face and gulps again even as Oblo’s laughing voice trails through his head. **_Taserface’s face_**. He bites the inside of his cheek and waits. There has been a lot of name associated joking at his new Captain’s expense, and maybe phrasing his request the way he had was a bad idea. 

“You might have a point there Obfonteri. Alright.”

Kraglin lets out his held breath. “Alright?”

“Yea, Alright. You can be the new Archivist. Brahl’s been hedgin’ for your job anyway.”

“Oh. Well tha’s good then, works for everyone.” Kraglin smiles like an idiot, lopsided with a slight hunch to his shoulders, and Taserface nods at him. 

“See ya down at the Tailor, then, Archivist.” The Eclector’s new Captain nods and turns away from her former First Mate. Kraglin salutes and goes back to piling some of his gear up on the bed. He pulls open the bedside table and lets a little gasp squeak out. There it is, scarlet in color like something he’s dreamed of, the shape of a true tahlei and completely untouched. The prototype fin. His fingers inch towards it but stop when his _Captain’s_ voice calls from the door again. “Oh and Obfonteri, if that fin isn’t in there when I get back, I’ll string you up for a traitor down in the engine rooms til you melt.”

“Yes, Sir.” He warbles and slams the drawer closed again.

Later, after he’s packed all his gear up and shuffled it into Tullks room, (And isn’t that creepy, everything left where it had been, the Annals open to a blank page on the desk, next to a spare weapon repair kit and a box full of Tullk’s commendations. A long term Archivist’s private work room.) he’ll head down to join the rest of the crew. He’ll hold his tongue as Wretch and the rest of the boys put the little Groot through a common hazing, dumping alchohol on him, probably too much for his size, and kicking him like a ping pong ball between ravager boots. It’s hard to watch, the thing is so small and as far as he can see pretty defenseless. By the time everyone starts chanting “Mascot, Mascot!” he’s more than ready to duck out. 

“Hey! Krags, man where you goin? You don’t want a round with the new blood?” Vorker is half in the bag already, sloshing liquor down his front and smiling with yellowed teeth. His cybernetic eye rolls left and right and then makes a full circle, not quite able to interpret the signals from his alcohol infused brain. 

“I think I’ve had enough-” Kraglin starts, until there's a hand on his shoulder and if it had been anyone but his co-pilot he’d have decked them just for the fun of it. The whole thing is under his skin now; Yondu, Tullk, the mutiny, Taserface, the damn fin, and now the unhappy wails of the branchling trawled under the chants and jeers of his least favorite comrades. It’s all left him kind of itchy and wound too tight, sweat beading and sliding down his spin and sticking his jumpsuit to him. 

“Krags what’s your problem?” 

“I don’t torture kids.” He says, voice a raspy growl and Vorker laughs in his face.

“Bullshit man! If that was Quill in there you’d a been first in line!” 

“That ain’t-” But it is sorta true, even if it isn’t exactly the same. He’d never really hurt Quill, the one time the kid had caught him installing the 3rd quadrant’s navigation system notwithstanding. And that had been a special case, and looking back hadn’t they both pretty much been kids. And sure he’d thought about killing Peter himself after Xandar, but he hadn’t done it. Had only really been half serious as he tracked the Milano from port to port, before Yondu had put a halt to the whole thing. There’s a slew of other justifications running through his head, a hundred reasons why Quill always deserved what he got. **_Look where all that jealousy got you Kraglin._ **

“I know you’re a little hung up on Yondu right now, but brother if you don’t get with it, you’re gonna end up spaced, like the rest of those idiots.” Vorker tries again, hand moving from Kraglin’s shoulder to his elbow and giving him a little shake.

Kraglin snorts at him and shakes his head. “Might be preferable.” He says before he turns and leaves. He needs to think, needs to get away from all the noise and the dark mood nipping at his heels, but most of all he needs to come up with a way to fix this. The prototype fin flashes to the forefront of his mind again, about the same time he shuts the door to Tullk's room. He'd have to be sneaky, have to wait til the right moment. He only hopes, that the wait will give him enough time to come up with a way to apologize for what he's done.


	2. Chapter 2

They all get out ok; Kraglin, Yondu, the Fox and the Twig. And with the excitement of the next couple of months, the mutiny goes mostly unthought-of as far as Yondu's concerned. It isn’t as big a deal as a psychotic living planet out to kill his boy or Kraglin’s near death experience. There’s nothing he can do for the supporters who died for him and all the rest got what they deserved. His First Mate is another story. 

Kraglin’s leaned in one of the Quadrant’s circular airlocks, looking out onto the port, a skinny sliver in new red leather. He’s got both arms crossed over his narrow chest and his weight settled on one spindly leg while the other keeps his balance on the wall. Yondu can tell he’s brooding, turning something over and over in his skull until it’s rubbed all his new sins raw. He’s fairly certain it’s the mutiny, _still_ the mutiny, a specter that rears its head in the quiet moments when there’s nothing left to distract him. No matter how many times they talk about it, Kraglin can’t seem to let it lay. His overactive brain coming up with new ways he can blame himself for what happened. 

“Was wonderin’ where you’d slithered off to.” Yondu says, and Kraglin lifts a red mechanical shoulder in a noncommittal shrug, before pointing his chin at something just outside the window, 

“Got some yellow leathers. Charlie’s guys.” 

They’ve docked in Knowhere so the _Guardians of the Galaxy_ can meet with the Collector about some something-something that he’s lost. Yondu couldn't really care about what it is at this point, but the units looked good and that’s what matters. He doesn’t need to meet with the a-hole for Peter to pick up the job. 

If he’s honest, the last mission the Guardian's ran has left both of them a little skittish of wanting to be more involved. Kraglin not unreasonably so, and well, Yondu’s trying his best to stay out of Peter’s way. He knows how easy it would be to fall back into being the leader, Captain Udonta, but that’s not his place anymore, not here with the Guardians. All said the new dynamic has left both him and his first mate a little out of their depth. Kraglin has managed to fill his time with tinkering, fixing the Quadrant up with new gadgets and making a number of tactical improvements, something Rocket has eagerly assisted him with. For himself, Yondu’s been spending more time with Quill than either of them probably expected could be managed without violence. But right now, the ship needs nothing, fueled up as she is and practically shined bright like a star. It’s quiet and both former captain and former first mate are alone. 

Yondu sidles up next to him and peeks out the window and sure enough there’s a handful of engineers and oilers in mustard colored yellow working on putting some new rigging on an M-ship a dock or two down. There’s been no sign of Charlie-27 or his flagship, so Yondu figures this group is on some kind of solo trip. 

“Huh. Wonder what they’re up to.” He doesn’t wonder, but there’s something sticking’ in Kraglin’s teeth and somehow these guys are part of it. Navigating emotional entanglements isn’t exactly one of his strong suits, but he’s trying, trying to do right and be better. Peter is easier, Hel the rest of the Guardians are easier than Kraglin, whose own emotional shortcomings create unnecessary barriers. All those years of harping on “Sentiment equals weakness” and now all Yondu wants is for the skinny bastard to be able to talk about what’s bothering him so they can get back to normal. “You figure they’re here recruitin’?”

“Cap’n…” Kraglin starts and waits until Yondu turns away from the Ravagers outside to look at him. “I was thinkin’. ‘Bout the mutiny-”

“You don’t say, I couldn’t have guessed.” Yondu says, sarcasm evident in his tone and arched eyebrow. Kraglin scowls at him, bottom lip pushed out in an almost pout.

“You think….if we hit those coordinates again, that our guys would still be there?” 

“What? Just floatin’ out in space?” Yondu’s eyebrows, absent as they are, crawl up toward his fin as Kraglin looks away. 

“Yea.” 

“Can’t see why not. Why?”

“I wanna go get ‘em,” He says. “Give ‘em a proper funeral.” He runs a red cybernetic hand through the grown out grey fluff on top of his head and Yondu scowls to cover up a smile. The sides have grown out and are starting to curl by his ear. If he keeps at it, the way he has been, ignoring it, he’ll end up with the kind of ratty ponytail Yondu remembers him having as a kid. Stripes of white and silver that have begun to pop up throughout Kraglin’s scalp (and isn’t that something, all those new signs that maybe they’re both gonna manage to live to a ripe old age. Together.). All said, Yondu bet’s it wouldn’t look half bad. 

“They deserved better than all that.” Kraglin continues when Yondu doesn’t say anything about his plan.

“Guess we could talk to Quill ‘bout it when he gets back.” 

“Pfft. I ain’t askin Quill to borrow our own ship.” _Our ship_ he says, and maybe Yondu is getting sentimental in his old age, because the fact that its _their_ ship, just theirs, makes his gut clench. The Eclector had been his, and the whole crew had known it. But the Quadrant has made him part of an ‘us’ and an ‘ours’ in a way 30 years on the Eclector hadn’t. “Last I checked, he got his own ship, can take the Milano if he don’ wanna go with us to get the crew what had the decency to raise him like one a us.” 

“I thought you and Quill worked shit out.” Yondu says in response to Kraglin’s snotty tone.

“We did. Don’t this sound worked out.” Kraglin levers a lopsided toothy grin at Yondu, who shakes his head at him. The only upside to Kraglin’s dark moods is that they come and go quick. He’s serious about going to go get the loyalists that Taserface had left out in the void, and somehow Kraglin knows, when he tells Peter, the boy will be on board with it. It’s actually been a kind of relief, to be able to finally put the rivalry behind them, to leave it on the Eclector, or more likely in a weapons storage crate full of starving Sakaarans.

“Kraglin, you know you don’t owe this to them-”

“Yes I do, Cap’n. Those men died because I opened my mouth at the wrong time.” Kraglin doesn’t tell him he feels guilty about not feeling guilty. That for half a second when the cards were down he’d been ready to throw away half his brothers in exchange for his own life

“Those men died because I couldn’t pull my head out of my ass. How’re we still talkin’ about this?”

“So maybe we both owe it to them. We’re alive, and they’re not. We gotta do right by them, Sir.” 

Yondu sighs deep, something he does frequently now that he can again, now that the breathing mask is a thing of the past and the spare lung Kraglin hadn’t needed is lodged in his own chest. He’d be a liar if he said he hasn’t been enjoying how much better it works than his own natural lungs had, something you don’t notice until you can feel the difference. His whistle is stronger, longer now than it had been in years, and he wonders if Kraglin had felt a similar new lease on life when he’d had his teeth capped. Re-weaponized and ready to test the limits. 

Even with the awkward struggle to find where he fits in this new dynamic with Peter, the Guardians, and Kraglin, it all feels better than the last couple months on the Eclector had, fresh. And it’s a sappy kind of thing he’d never admit to but he wants that feeling for Kraglin too. A New Start, a new chapter. “You think, if you lay our boys to rest you’ll be able to stop kickin’ yourself for this shit?”

“Maybe.” Kraglin says, soft, with his eyes cast back out the window. His mouth might have said “maybe”, but Yondu can read the “probably not.” written on the rest of his body. 

“Alright.” he says, because any little bit of hope is better than nothing. “That’s what you wanna do we’ll figure it out. Now, enough of mopin’ about like a kicked f’saki. Why don’t we go grab some grub?” 

Kraglin perks at the suggestion, the path to his heart always obviously through his stomach. “Wait you mean like, like out?” 

“Yea, ain’t that noodle joint you like here? The one with the-”

“The giant, spicy sand fleas of Muspelheim.” Kraglin’s voice is nearly reverent. “I’m pretty sure they’re made out of primordial fire or some shit like that.” Yondu can’t keep the grimace off his face as he stares at Kraglin’s dopey, blissful expression. It isn’t that he hasn’t eaten and enjoyed his share of insects, Knowhere cuisine is known for its diverse proteins, but he’s never really had the taste buds necessary to eat the kinds of things Kraglin can stuff down his gullet. Spicy Muspelheim Sand Fleas being only one of many things he thinks mammalian species aren’t supposed to actually ingest, but which Kraglin loves. 

“That’s the one. C’mon, lets light that gut on fire, baby.” 

“Pfft. As if.”

They leave, Kraglin’s hands stuffed in his pants pockets, one of Yondu’s at his lower back, and just that little bit of openness does its part of lifting Kraglin’s spirits further. Well that and the promise of food in the near future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the third chapter will just be an excuse for me to write some porn. you can stop here and get most of the point of this story. it likely could have just been a nice long one shot, but Avatar gets impatient.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here is where we put the porn with robot arms and recreational space drugs.Alos be warned, these two are a little grimey this time around.

It’s well into the morning hours when they start to meander back from the marketplace and food districts of Knowhere. Kraglin, happily laden with a bag of freeze dried sand fleas for the road, and a skewer with some kind of fried tentacle, while Yondu attempts to wipe the front of his leathers clean. 

“How is it, that of all the eatin’ utensils in the universe, two sticks won out as the ones to use for noodles.” His fingers rub at a particularly thick stain with a grimace. 

“Well it ain’t like you can use a spoon, noodles’re too long, they’d slip right off.” Kraglin says sagely and Yondu has no doubt that his First Mate has spent some serious time contemplating this quandary.

“What about a fork!” Yondu grumps, giving up on trying to get the greasy stain to clean off. 

“Don’t wanna puncture the fleas ‘fore they’re in your mouth! Lose half the flavor that way!” The look on his face is scandalized and it fills Yondu with a kind of contented fondness. Well, Kraglin’s face and his own full belly. Point of fact there’s only two things missing from the whole deal to make it really relaxing. Both being things neither one of them have had the time for since before the War for Xandar. 

“Hey Krags, when you was packin’ up the Quadrant you didn’t happen to pack up any…. _recreationals_ , did ya?” Yondu asks, becoming suddenly interested in his cuticle situation.

Kraglin stops walking and turns back to look at his Captain. He’s got half the tentacle in his gob and slurps the rest of the appendage down with a grin, smears of sauce splattering on his chin and sticking to his stubble. His face looks like a fat cat that got the canary, sneaky and satisfied with his eyelids lowered and one fang poking out to grab at his lower lip. 

“Recreationals, Sir? You mean like that Gold Glow you used to like when we was first breakin’ bed springs together?”

“Heh, way I recall, was you what liked the Glow rocks.” 

“Oh, my mistake, Cap’n. You must be referring to that Red Leaf off Kagan 7 then.” Yondu glances up from where he’s digging some grit out from under his nails and his questioning look is all the confirmation Kraglin needs. “Look, take this back and in five minutes meet me in our quarters.”

“That an order Obfonteri?” He’s scowling when he says it, and for a moment Kraglin stumbles over his response. Yondu takes mercy on him, replaces the scowl on his face with an easy smile and snatches up the bag of fleas before continuing toward the docks. What good is a long term commitment if you can’t fuck with your...well your whatever once in awhile. When he  glances back to see if Kraglin is going to follow him, the Xandarian is nowhere in sight. “Sneaky little shit.” Yondu murmurs. 

When he enters the Quadrant there’s music playing over the internal comm system to the whole ship, letting him know that the Guardians have returned from meeting with the Collector. It seems like a waste to have had to come all the way from Spartax, just to have a conversation. Whatever this Aether is Yondu figures it’s gonna be trouble. “As long as it ain’t another of those damn Infinity rocks.”

_I’m a joker, I’m a smoker, I’m a mid-night toker_

He grins at the song lyrics, as unintentionally prophetic as they are, and makes his way to the galley to deposit Kraglin’s snacks. He really hopes the scrawny stick will be able to secure what he wants. There’s many a substance they’ve both enjoyed, sometimes more than one at a time, but Red Leaf is a particularly smooth sedative, about as far away from the Gold Glow rocks Kraglin used to stuff up his nose as anything. It burns a pink smoke when it’s fresh, the thicker the more potent, and leaves a person’s nerves tingly and sensitive. Not a compulsive aphrodisiac, but the kind of thing that makes touching another person all that more enjoyable. It’s one of Yondu’s personal favorites, had made connecting with Kraglin possible when he was still learning to trust someone for more than a single tumble. He slides the bag of red-orange fleas into a cubby in the galley that Kraglin’s marked as his in a scribbly sort of scrawl. The handwriting is so bad that if Yondu hadn’t been looking at it for years at varying intervals he’s not sure he’d recognize it as Kraglin’s name.

The man in question is camped out in his undershirt and pants when Yondu finally gets to their room, sneaked in while his Captain isn’t looking. The glass pipe, a dual chambered liquid diffuser with a bowl on the top and a long hose connected to one of the chambers, is set up on the metal bedside table. The coals in the bowl are lit, burning hot and blue in the bowl as Kraglin drips a concentrated liquid onto them and sucks the smoke down into the chamber below via the hose. A whisp of pink smoke leaves his mouth about the time he notices Yondu in the door. 

“You gonna stand there lookin’ or you gonna hit this?”

“How the hell did you manage to sneak passed me in the Mess?” Yondu asks, shucking both his long coat and leather jacket, undressing til he’s mirroring Kraglin in just an undershirt and pants. He joins him on the double wide bed, rearranging creaky limbs until he’s sitting cross legged across from his First Mate. Kraglin gives him another sly smile and takes deep drag off the hose in his mouth. 

“See an’ here I was thinkin’ you actually thought I was a decent Ravager.” Kraglin teases, as he passes the hose over. The smoke is still thin as it leaves his lips when he speaks. The mouthpiece is silver metal, nicked in several places by someone’s teeth, with a wood handle, rubbed smooth by overuse. It’s all connected to a long thin rubber hose. It takes a minute of inspection for it to register that it’s another treasure from the Eclector, secreted onto the Quadrant before Yondu blew the poor girl to pieces. With all that had to be done before they detached, Yondu does wonder how Kraglin managed to grab as much as he did. If he asked he’s sure he’d just get a haughty wink and a self satisfied boast about his First Mate’s prowess. He takes a long pull as Kraglin drips a few more drops onto the embers, breathing deep and feeling it burn thick into his organic lung, while the synthetic one compensates for it.

He blows a thick pink smoke ring in Kraglin’s grinning face. “Now where would you get an idea like that?” 

“Just somethin’ Pete said you’d said. ‘Bout when I was laid up there-” Yondu cuts him off with a fist in his shirt and a tongue in his open mouth. He still tastes like the damn greasy tentacle he’d munched on earlier, but atleast it isn’t the fleas. Yondu’s not certain he could handle that level of heat even second hand. When he’s had his fill of tasting Kraglin’s dinner he thumps him in the chest with the mouthpiece again. 

“Shut up and hit this. Finally got it goin’ right.”

“Yes, Sir.” Kraglin obeys and blows a tiny little ring of smoke in retaliation at his Captain. “Never could do them as well as you.” 

Yondu takes the hose back again ready to show off but finds himself with a lap full of gangly Xandarian before he can do anything more than suck down a big hit. Kraglin sucks the pink smoke out of Yondu’s mouth, sucks it down into his own lungs, while his hands splay over the back of Yondu’s head and across his fin, light and a little awed. He’s had almost twice as many pulls off the pipe as Yondu has and if the red cheeks and bloodshot eyes are anything to go on, he’s starting to feel pretty loose. Especially considering that Yondu can feel his own head start to spin a little. Wherever Kraglin picked up the little dropper bottle, he’s managed to secure some grade-A shit.

His First Mate’s fingers rub across the puckered scars where his fin meets his skull and from there run up it’s length. Yondu gives a little whistle, fin strobing and can feel the yaka shiver from across the room where it’s with the rest of his kit. Kraglin smiles relaxed and dopey. 

“You think you’re slick, but you know, I’ve noticed you lookin at the new fin an awful lot.” Yondu says, smug, nose snuffled into Kraglin’s neck now. He sucks a little bruise into the skin under a blown out tattoo just to hear Kraglin’s stuttered breaths. When the Xandarian speaks it’s with trails of wispy magenta between his teeth. 

“I’ve told you, ‘bout my Dream.” Dream, with a capital D. The one Araneae gifted him with, recurring and not so unlike the one Yondu knows Peter’s been struggling with. “Where we’re-”

“That’s why you keep lookin’?” If he wasn’t so high, Yondu’d be more scandalized he’s sure. But as it stands his limbs feel slack and warm as his hips rut up against Kraglin. There’s a hard Xandarian cock poking him in the belly through Kraglin’s pants.

“In my paradise, you’ve got your tahlei.” 

“Flarkin’ Hel, Obfonteri.” 

Kraglin grabs up the hose again and settles the mouthpiece in a groove in his bottom teeth. He sucks in deep and let’s the smoke escape slow. “I just wanna, you know….take it all away. All that shit they did. Can’t believe I even considered lettin’ them assholes sell you back…”

“Now now, you’re gonna bring me down with that kinda talk.”

“Sorry Cap’n.” He says as Yondu takes the hose from him. 

Yondu takes another pull of pink smoke before setting the mouthpiece to the side next to the glass pipe itself. He’s feeling pretty hazy at this point, vision starting to spin and fingers sorta tingly when he runs them up under Kraglin’s shirt. His nails snag along a few of Kraglin’s own puckered scars, thumbs smoothing against his natural skin as well as the plating on his side.

“I got a way you could make it up to me.” He growls, displacing Kraglin from his lap so they can swap. He’s got both knees on either side of Kraglin’s hips and both hands on either side of his head when they finally settle in. “Get this shirt off, baby, I wanna get a look at ya.”

The loopy smile previously on Kraglin’s face slips away slowly, and even with his pink tinged eyes he’s looking a little sober all of a sudden and Yondu sighs. He was hoping the combination of food and other relaxing substances might have been enough. They haven’t stripped down to go at each other since Xandar, not the raw, biting, kissing, sweating, fucking kind of rounds they both enjoyed. Hell, half the reason Yondu’d agreed to stop in Contraxia was a need to cut loose while Kraglin kept sidelining him. And sure, since Ego, they’ve jerked off, traded blowjobs and he even got his hands in Kraglin’s pants for a finger bang one afternoon. But since his First Mate’s new cybernetics went in getting naked has been a no go.

“Cap’n, I’m not…” Kraglin stutters, hands smoothing over Yondu’s leather clad thighs, eyes cast off to the side.

“Krags, c’mon. Take the shirt off.”  Yondu prompts again, leaning down to run his tongue along the silver scar on the side of the Xandarian’s head, hidden under a few well placed locks of hair. He sucks a rounded ear between his lips and mouths it from the top, to a hole in the lobe where Kraglin once wore an earring. 

“Yondu-”

“I’m too fucked up to argue with you Kraglin.”

“Yondu c’mon, can’t we just-”

“Look, it’s like this. You can’t get rid of ‘em, they’re you now. Can’t change it Krags, can’t regrow your old parts. Ain’t no different than this fin you keep makin’ googoo eyes at. Best you can do is learn to live with it.” He’s talking about more than the body modifications, but Yondu isn’t exactly sure Kraglin is sober enough to pick up on the subtext, not sure he’s sober enough for it to come across right. Their dead crewmates, the Eclector, all of it’s gone, but here they are. And maybe it’s not quite home yet, maybe it’s not quite comfortable, but it’s close. “Now, I’ma be hell and damned if I’ma let some cybernetic hang ups stand in my way of gettin to ride you into the afternoon. So get undressed and let’s start makin with the nookie nookie.” Yondu yanks hard on the sleeveless undershirt and grins, gold fangs glinting, when he can hear a seam pop. “I wanna look at what’s mine, Kraglin. All the mismatched, so called ugly pieces of it.” 

“Greedy sonofabitch.” Kraglin grouses but he does as he’s been bidden, sits up enough to yank the shirt off without dislodging Yondu from his perch on his lap. “There. Happy? Old doofus.”

It’s a Quill-ism, something the boy calls him with regularity these days and Yondu smiles to hear it in Kraglin’s mouth, before rewarding him with another kiss. He pulls back and yanks his own undershirt off over his head, preening at the way Kraglin looks at him. When he isn’t on the job the moron has always had an easy to read face, and when it comes to Yondu it’s usually telegraphing some kind of desire. Yondu stretches his arms above his head and clenches his gut a bit, showing off all the muscle he’s still got even if it’s starting to get a little soft in some places. Kraglin runs a mechanical hand up along his Captain’s scarred belly to the soft seam of his pouch.

“Now, what was that you were sayin’ about ‘riding me into the afternoon’, Sir?” 

“Get your pants off an’ I’ll show you.”  

Outside the door, over the Quadrant’s intercom system, Peter’s Zune, set to shuffle, rolls over to a new song, and Marvin Gaye croons through the speakers. Neither of the former Ravagers currently shuffling about on their bed, dodging elbows and knees while they strip down, can hear it through the door. 

By the time Yondu’s down to one sock and Kraglin, the poor bastard, has his pants stuck on a boot he’s forgotten to unlace, the Red Leaf has hit its peak effectiveness. Both parties are beyond waiting anymore and Kraglin gets both hands around Yondu’s meaty thighs to drag him up to straddle his head.

“Fuck, yea baby, gimme that.” Yondu murmurs, grinding his hips in a slow circle on Kraglin’ chin while his First Mate’s beaky nose rubs his taint. The stubble burns in all the right ways and when Kraglin’s tongue comes into play the pleasure is intense enough to make Yondu’s teeth chatter. His own long nails scrape and dig at tense blue thighs and the sensitive skin heats under his hands as the Red Leaf stokes a fire in his groin. 

He rides Kraglin’s mouth until he can barely stand it, until he’s so loose and wet he can hear the squelching sounds of his First Mates tongue every time it dips inside. It’s good, so good, but it always has been when Kraglin gets his mouth on him, and if he’s not careful Yondu knows the man will take him all the way over the edge this way. But that’s not what he wants today. He spits down onto his cock, grinning when some of it slides into Kraglin’s hair line, and uses it to slick himself up a bit. A mechanical hand wraps around his wrist, tight, and Kraglin’s face reappears from between his legs, blue cock lining up against a prominent nose.

“Don’t touch that.” Kraglin murmurs before sucking one of Yondu’s balls into his mouth, sly eyes peeking up at his Captain, who scowls at the order. Yondu tries to yank his hand back, gets a fist full of his First Mate’s hair to pull him away as his thighs flex trying to shuffle down the skinny Xandarian body to get what he wants. 

“Krags, come on, I-”

Kraglin sits up then, surprising abdominal muscles doing their part to bend Yondu in half in his lap. He’s got a knee in each hand when he presses him against the bed and continues tongue fucking the violet hole in front of him. Blue thighs tense and tremble, jerking against where Kraglin has them held fast. A string of clicks leave Yondu’s lips, but the Xandarian doesn’t let up and not for the first time does Yondu wonder about the kind of self control Kraglin actually has. He jerks hard on Kraglin’s hair in a last effort to pull his mouth away.

“Krags, knock it off!”

“So ridin’ my face wasn’t what you had in mind?” 

“Fucker.”

Kraglin laughs, fishes a bottle of some kind of oil slick out of the bedside table and pulls the top off with his teeth before drizzling more than enough over his right hand and cock, He slips a thumb inside the loose purple aperture and grins like a shark when he meets near to no resistance. Another great side effect of the Red Leaf running circles through both their blood. A few strokes to his pink flushed cock, not more than a few because he’s not sure it wouldn’t put him over the edge, and he’s pushing inside. 

He wants to go slow, draw it out but the second Yondu clenches on him he knows it’s not gonna happen. He runs a hand over the broad chest under him, tweaking a dark navy nipple and tickling gently at his Captain’s pouch. Yondu gets his hand free to grab him by the chin and pull him down for a kiss filled with teeth and tongues as his pace picks up. And even as he can feel himself burning from the inside out he can’t help but wonder why it took them so long to get back to this. Why after everything he let his fears create excuses. He urges Yondu to hold his legs open and wraps his hands around the back of the bald Centaurian skull and finally gets the leverage necessary to fuck into him the way they both want.

“Tha’s it! Kraglin-”

“You feel so fuckin good.” Kraglin mumbles, pelvis slapping against Yondu’s ass with increasing speed and force. He’s not gonna last, but that’s ok, there’s been something he’s wanted to try for awhile and once he comes he’ll be able to focus on Yondu again. He runs fervent hands over the seam where Yondu’s fin meets his skull again and can’t help but moan when he can lay his palm flat against the replicated shape of a tahlei. High as he is, the wispy feeling of his reacurring dream is sitting right at the edge of his mind, tangible in a way it usually isn’t unless he’s asleep.

His rhythm is starts  to falter, thrusts beginning to stutter before he presses down hard, folds the man beneath him in half and just grinds away. The blush up his chest and neck has surpassed pink and gone to a scarlet red not so different from his new leathers. Yondu hooks his legs up over Kraglin’s shoulders, letting him plow forward deeper while also freeing him up to stroke himself off. However the second he touches his cock hands that had been resting on his fin and shoulders grab his wrists and move them above his head. 

“Come on Krags! You’re about to blow just let me-“ Yondu grouses, cock hard, purple and needy. Bent in half as he is he doesn’t have enough leverage to really protest, but krutarkin hell does he need to touch himself. When he looks at Kraglin’s face however he can see he’s not gonna win this time.

“Wait for me. Please. Please, Sir, just wait for me.” Kraglin begs, eyes pink and rolling in his skull and Yondu knows he’s gonna do whatever the lanky sonofabitch wants. 

“What then?” Yondu grits out, teeth clenched against how good Kraglin’s making him feel. “Just gonna get yours and then-“ his First Mate slips a tongue in his mouth to shut him up, pressing maybe a little too deep, pink muscle fucking against its blue counterpart. 

“Have I ever left you hangin?” Kraglin murmurs when he pulls away. Soon he’s pushing forward as far as he can reaching to run his tongue along Yondu’s fin and coming with a wail. He comes in great thick torrents, and Yondu knows when it starts to drip out of him there’ll be a hell of a wet spot. He jerks his hands, still held captive in Kraglin’s own grip, trying to get one down to his dick while Kraglin is still hard enough inside him that he might be able to grind down on him.

“Damnit Obfonteri! Let go!” He growls and his Mate can’t help but chuckle at him, airy and satisfied as he shakes his head.

“Nah. Can’t” He says, sucking air like he’s just run the length of the Eclector to avoid being late for a shift change. He eases his cock out and Yondu can’t keep the grimace off his face when the air hits his loose hole. ”I got a surprise for you.”

“Better be a damn good one, I’m dyin’ here!” 

“What was that you were sayin’ earlier, about learnin’ to live with everythin’?”

There’s another toothy shark grin on Kraglin’s face when he upends the bottle of slick again and lets it soak his red mechanical hand. Before Yondu can say anything about it, that same hand has three fingers slipped in him, grinding on his prostate and Yondu swears he comes even if his dick doesn’t shoot. The fingers grind hard the way a toy might, definitely not the same as a flesh and blood hand, and a little similar to the lovebots of Contraxia. A moment later he can hear Kraglin’s arm whir and vent. And then it starts to vibrate.

“Goddamnit!” Yondu yowls, head tossed back, hands immediately reaching for his cock, only to have both wrists grabbed up by Kraglin’s free hand. 

And fuck, fuck! Kraglin’s gonna make him come, just like this, hands caught, dick straining and ass full of a mechanical hand. He’s chirping gibberish, until even that tapers off and the noises aren’t any kind of language, even if every species in the universe knows what he’s saying.  And hell if the Red Leaf ain’t a little to blame, but everything feels so intense and he’s so close, has been on the verge for what feels like forever. When Kraglin’s tongue finds the head of his cock and laps, hot and wet over it, it’s all over and he comes for what feels like an age. 

He doesn’t black out, but it’s a near thing, and the exhaustion hits him hard on the come down. When he looks at Kraglin, who’s pulled his hand out and is petting gently along his inner thighs he can’t help but grin. There’s come coating his First Mate’s cheeks and chin, a gob of the pearlescent seed dripping down his neck.

“Awe hell, lookit you now, covered in mess.” Yondu laughs, breathless, sleepy, head pressed back into his pillow as he tries to stretch his back out. He runs a heel up along Kraglin’s shoulder so he can grab at his messed up hair with dexterous sock-covered toes. Kraglin scrunches his nose and tongues at the come on his chin and around his mouth, cleans what he can out of his stubble before yanking the sock off his Captain’s foot. It’s a half stiff article, overworn and dark on the bottom, from sweat and boots, with a hole in one toe. Kraglin uses it to wipe the rest of the sticky seed off his face. Once he’s sure he’s got most of it, he lobs the used up sock across the room, hoping it’ll get lost under some piece of furniture so Yondu doesn’t try to wear it tomorrow. 

“You wanna talk about mess?” He says, his natural hand reaching back down to rub at the loose purple pucker between Yondu’s asscheeks. He can’t help the grin on his face when it twitches away from his questing fingers, his own seed dribbling out onto the bed. He doesn’t slip the digits inside, just lets them rub against his Captain’s hole and taint.

“Damnit Kraglin enough….fuck darlin’, enough…” Yondu gripes, twisting on the sheets. He’s over sensitive and the residual Red Leaf in his system isn’t helping. He reaches one hand down to wrap around Kraglin’s bony wrist to try and halt his gentle ministrations.

“Remember when we were young enough that this’d get you goin’ again?” He says, shifting around so he can lay his pink body along its blue companion without having to take his hand away. Yondu’s spent cock gives a half hearted jump while he squirms, and Kraglin knows even if the flesh is weak, the spirit is more than willing, wonders if maybe they might still manage another go if he keeps at it.

“Well we ain’t that young no more….c’mon now…quit it.” Kraglin finally allows Yondu to pull his hand away but shudders when the old man puts his sticky fingers in between snaggle-fanged Centaurian teeth. His own cock gives a tiny twitch and he has to shut his eyes against the arousal that trickles through him like a lazy breeze.

“Fuck, you’re so nasty.”

“Pfft, you love me.” Yondu says, following with a flutter of his eyelashes as coquettish as it is sarcastic. He snuggles in close, rolled onto his belly, ever a secret cuddler, one arm around Kraglin’s skinny chest.

And Kraglin can’t argue with him, doesn’t even want to as he lays out on his back, both hands slowly caressing blue flesh. He does love the red-crested maniac, for more reasons than there might be stars in the void. Would follow him whether they were Ravagers or Guardians or any of the things that fall in between. And right here, right now, he doesn’t feel even a little guilty about trading all his brothers, loyalists and mutineers alike,  just to get here, just to be able to say, “I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs featured in this fic are  
> Steve Miller Band- The Joker  
> Marvin Gaye- Lets get it on


End file.
